


The Penstrokes of Fate

by withlovegilbert (rebelarkey)



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Book: Anne of the Island, Canon Compliant, F/M, Falling In Love, Kissing, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Bridge Scene, The bedside scene, Tissue Warning, the boat scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelarkey/pseuds/withlovegilbert
Summary: In that second she knew two things: one, Gilbert Blythe was her soulmate and two, he would never ever know.Anne Shirley is determined to marry her soulmate and that person isnotGilbert Blythe. He's not romantic enough, not tall enough, and definitely not melancholy enough.  Except he does like Walt Whitman though...~Shirbert Soulmate AU
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 35
Kudos: 183





	The Penstrokes of Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aceofsparrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofsparrows/gifts).



> Here, have this utter frustration of the past month, this monster of a thing. I don't think I've worked so hard on a story before, attempting for perfection. Sometimes I don't even edit or have a beta, my stories just write themselves. This one...did NOT.  
> So please read and appreciate all the hard work I did to give you this wonderful soulmate AU. Also give Lots and lots and lots of love to my lovely beta @aceofsparrows for her magnificent work. She made me cry the other day! 
> 
> This is a mix of the books & AOGG: The Sequel. 
> 
> Tissue warning: This first part made me cry.

“Anne, this is utter nonsense.” Gilbert Blythe brandished her novel, slapping it down on the bench he was sitting on, his face twisted in disgust. “If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t believe it could be written by you. You write so much better than this.”

“Thank you, Gilbert Blythe, for your excellent opinion. I’ll take it under advisement.” Anne Shirley retorted, snatching her manuscript back from him. The papers in her hand were her child. For the past several weeks she had spent nurturing and caring for her sweet novel, and Gilbert’s honesty about its worth was a painful sting to her soul. 

She was attempting to publish her story, with the key word being  _ attempting.  _ This was the third rejection letter this month! The only reason she had let Gilbert anywhere near it was because he’d caught her coming out of the post office all upset and teary-eyed and had demanded to know what had been causing her grief. She’d finally capitulated, shoving the manuscript in his direction, hoping for some much needed assurance. 

Instead he’d decided to ridicule her. Well, he could take his opinion and...and...

“Anne, I’m sorry, but no one talks like this!” Gilbert reached out and grasped her arm, preventing her from storming away. “All uppity with ‘thee’s’ and thy’s’ and how this Percival chap is lord of the manor and Averil, well… it’s worse than Romeo and Juliet.”

“No, it’s not! Any girl would be swept away by the tragical destiny of two soulmates.”

“But the way that Percy fellow goes on and on... that’s just not how soulmates work, Anne.” Gilbert shook his head, rising to stand in front of her. “Discovering your soulmate isn’t an instantaneous thing. It’s softer than that, an ‘oh, so  _ that’s _ the person.’ Falling in love is a slow process; it sneaks up on you until it’s burned into your wrist when you finally realize that you love them.”

Anne scoffed, still defensive. “That sounds like poppycock! How would you know? It’s not like you’ve met your soulmate!” 

Gilbert sighed, his right hand rubbing his left wrist. “Anne...”

But she was too riled up, too passionately caught up in her argument of knowing that  _ she  _ was  _ right  _ and  _ he  _ was  _ wrong,  _ to pay heed to him, and she didn’t hear the subtle truth in his tone.

“Plus, soulmates are so… so… ideal! Knowing that there is  _ one _ person out there that’s meant for you? That the mark isn’t burned into your skin until you  _ know _ that you love that person? The mark fading to the color of your skin when they die? It’s the very definition of a storybook romance!” 

“Is that really what you think soulmates are? The ultimate romance?”

“Yes, Gilbert Blythe!” She said indignantly, then puffed up with pride. “In fact, I already know who my soulmate is.”

Gilbert frowned. “...You do?”

“He is tall, handsome, dark-eyed, and  _ melancholy _ . He writes poetry in the middle of the rainy day and reads it to me by firelight. We sit in the moonlight on the window seat, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. He buys me roses all the time for no other reason than that he was thinking of me…” Anne trailed off.

Glumly, she said, “Or at least that’s how I imagine him to be.”

Gilbert let out a curious huff, as if he’d been holding his breath. She looked at him and saw that irritating mischievous smirk she  _ hated. _

He shook his head. “He sounds like a sissy.”

Anne narrowed her eyes at him, turned up her nose, and made in the direction of the bridge over the Lake of Shining Waters.

“We’d read books together all the time,” she continued, gesturing grandly as if to demonstrate her perfect fantasy and dismiss Gilbert’s cynicism all at once. “And we’d study the words of Tennyson and Whitman and that new poet Emily Dickensen. And he’d be rich! His house would be grand, with an entrance hall tiled with black and white chess-board marble. And diamond sunbursts would come through the stained glass windows… It would be  _ marvelous _ !” 

She’d come to stand at the bridge railing, casting her romantic ideals to the soft, rippling water, and not to the person beside her.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gilbert shake his head once more, sighing. “Anne, I think you’re more in love with the  _ idea _ of a soulmate than an actual person. Marble halls and diamond sunbursts?“

“Yes! And if a man can’t give me that then I won’t fall in love with him. He’ll never be my soulmate.” 

Her pronouncement had Gilbert turning to face her, his back leaning against the railing. 

“It doesn’t work like that, Anne. You don’t choose whether you fall in love with them or not. It just happens.”

He reached up again to rub at his wrist and this time, Anne identified the reason. Gilbert, her rival, her chum, her best friend, had  _ fallen in love with his soulmate _ . And he hadn’t told her. 

Annoyed that he would keep something secret like this from her, of all people, Anne opened her mouth to yell at him. However, she caught the anguished look on his face and thought better of it. Yes, she was hurt that he hadn’t trusted her, but it seemed like Gilbert was hurting more. 

Swallowing down her own resentment, she reached up and laid her hand gently on his. As though her touch had burned him, he flinched away, crossing both his arms over his chest defensively. 

“If that were possible, then I wouldn’t’ve fallen in love with her,” he muttered, confirming her hunch. 

“Do you know who your soulmate is, Gilbert?” She probed.

He gave a terse nod. 

Anne decided that she’d been a horrible friend. Here she was, going on and on about her soulmate ideal when the boy she’d become best friends with― despite her best intentions-- had an actual soulmark. It was time for her to stop talking and start  _ listening.  _

“Would….would you tell me about her?” She asked sweetly.

He sighed, hanging his head. “Anne, I don’t think…” 

“Please? It will make me a better writer. I only know what I’ve read in books and what Aunt Jo has told me. You… you know everything about soulmates because you’ve  _ found _ yours. So please, tell me?”

Gilbert inhaled slowly, exhaling roughly before glancing over at her. “It means that much to you?”

Anne nodded. “I know I haven’t always been a very good friend. I didn’t even know you  _ had _ your soulmark or had met your soulmate. When did you meet her?”

He stared across the lake, not looking at her. 

“I met her a long while ago, when we were both children.”

“Do I know her?” 

“Quite well.” 

Anne felt befuddled. “And I’m only hearing this now?! Who is she?! Is it Ruby? Josie? It isn’t Diana is it? Please say it isn’t Diana! I couldn’t bear to lose Diana to you. Not that you’re not good enough for her or that you’re a terrible person but because I care about you both too much. I couldn’t have my kindred spirits being together without me.”

“It isn’t Diana.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” 

“Or Ruby or Josie or Tillie. No, my soulmate’s not any of them. She’s... elemental. A hot, dry bonfire in the summer night. An autumn wind through the orchard. The ocean at sunrise in winter. The blooming of the spring tree blossoms. She’s so brilliant, shining so bright, that I can only hope that one day I’ll be good enough for her. She’s one of the brightest people I know, and I’m so lucky that I can call her my friend.

“I knew I loved her the day we met. I didn’t know how much until later, when my soulmark appeared. She’d gotten into some trouble and I’d helped her out of it--”

“Her knight in shining armor coming to rescue her, you mean,” Anne interrupted, getting excited despite herself.

He snorted. “Your words, not mine. As a matter of fact, she didn’t see it that way. But that day, when she ran away from me, I felt the burn start in my chest and go down to my wrist. The pain was agonizing, two-fold, knowing that, at that time, she didn’t love me back. Probably still doesn’t.”

He glanced at her then, and something deep in her stomach clenched. He couldn’t be…

“As the years have gone by I’ve fallen more and more in love with her everyday. She makes me laugh, she makes me spitting mad, she makes me a better person for just knowing her. She holds my heart in her hands, and breaks it all the time. But I let her, because I love her.”

Gilbert quieted and Anne let the silence stand. She had a dreading sense that whatever she said next would spark change irrevocably.

“Gil,” Anne hesitated, unsure of how to help her friend. “If you love her that much, you should tell her.” 

He barked out a laugh, a harsh, incredulous thing. “I’ve tried, but whenever I work up the nerve to say something about how I feel she changes the subject or laughs or runs away.” His voice came out low, choked with emotion. “I don’t know what to do.”

“She’s your soulmate Gilbert. I know she’d understand.”

“Do you really think so?” This time he turned towards her, giving her all his attention. 

“Yes. This might be your last chance to say anything, especially since you’re leaving next week for medical school. ”

Gilbert searched her eyes, looking for an answer. She held still, giving all her confidence to her best friend, hoping that she’d give him the courage to go seek out his soulmate and bare his heart. 

He stared at her a little too long. 

Anne laughed awkwardly, looking away, breaking their connection. “Well, don’t just stand there! Go! Go find her and tell her!” She shooed him with her hands.

Still he didn’t leave. Instead, his hands came out and captured each one of hers. That deep clenching in her gut coiled tighter. 

“Anne..”

_ No…  _

“Anne Shirley, I have loved you for as long as I can remember.” 

“Gilbert...no..” She moaned, trying to take back her hands. His strong grip kept them tight in his grasp. 

“Ever since that day I rescued you from drowning, finding you clinging to this very bridge, I’ve known that I love you. There will never be anyone for me but you. You’re my soulmate.” 

“ _ No! _ ” The vehemence of that shouted word surprised Anne. She ripped her hands from his, leaving his hanging in the air.“No… no Gilbert no!” Anne covered her face with her hands. “You’ve spoiled _ everything.  _ I can’t! I just can’t be your soulmate and  _ you’re certainly not mine!” _

Gilbert’s face had gone white, and he dropped his hands, turning back to the railing, gripping it hard, his knuckles turning the color of his face. 

The magic spell he’d weaved with his confession had shattered, leaving broken shards scattered around.

Anne knew that face would haunt her. And she had to make it better, she just had to. But she couldn’t be who he wanted her to be.

“I’m sorry Gil. I’m so desperately sorry but I don’t love you, not in that way. I don’t love anyone in that way. And that girl you described, that’s not me! That couldn’t be me. You’re a great deal too good for me, Gil.”

“No, I’m sorry. I thought that… maybe… well it doesn’t matter now.” 

He wouldn’t look her in the eye. Instead he grasped her by the nape of her neck and kissed her forehead. 

“Gil…” She grabbed for his coat as he pulled away, but the fabric slipped away from her fingers. Everything was slipping away from her fingers. Change had come, bringing with it its ugliness. “We’ll always be good friends right? Promise me? Gil?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Don’t forget me. Bye, Anne.” 

Anne felt tears stain her cheeks as she watched her best friend walk away. Something precious had just left her life and in that moment, she knew she’d never be able to get it back.

Anne let herself feel sorry for herself for a few moments. These past few years being friends with Gilbert had been the best in her life. But she’d had many more years without being friends with him.

She’d just have to rebuild her life, without any Gilbert in it. Since he wasn’t her soulmate, it couldn’t be that hard.

Couldn’t it? 

* * *

The very moment Anne met Royal Gardner, she knew he was her soulmate. Everything she’d described that horrible summer day last year was the very epitome of her handsome beau. Tall, dark, dashing,  _ melancholy _ . The gentleman of the highest order. 

It had been pouring rain, soaking Anne immediately as she’d walked home. He’d come from nowhere, offering his umbrella as Anne had forgotten her own. He didn’t tease her, or pull her hair, or insult her. Instead he gallantly escorted her to a gazebo in the park, where they introduced themselves and talked of poetry and  _ Jane Eyre _ . 

That night, Anne whispered to the moon that she was in love with Roy Gardner, and desperately wished her wrist to burn. 

After that, Roy called at least twice a week. He brought her roses, and daylilies, and violets, and peonies. No edible candy hearts from Roy. She’d eagerly take them from his hand, ignore the girls’ taunting and breathe them in. She wanted her wrist to burn. 

They took long walks together, talking of all things romantical and dreamy. A true kindred spirit, Roy would talk of Wordsworth and Byron and Tennyson. He didn’t like Walt Whitman, however, called him too ‘autarchy’. 

He told her of Europe, of Paris, of London, of Rome, and all the magnificent sights he’d seen. A life of adventure and exploration. He’d seen the world and she was eager to soak it all up. Every day, after she’d dream of her adventures around the globe, she willed her wrist to burn. 

But no matter how she willed or wished or wanted her wrist to burn, it never did. Anne told herself that love didn’t happen in a day. It was a slow progression of feelings and it would happen eventually. She just needed to give it time. Perhaps soon, when the moon was right and he was whispering poetry in her ear her wrist would burn and she would know. The sunbursts in marble hallways would be coming her way, despite a certain cynic’s predictions. 

Three years later, she was still waiting. Her last semester of college started, Roy having graduated the year before. December was cold, freezing the waters between Prince Edward Island and the mainland. She couldn’t go home for Christmas, the first she’d missed in all the years she’d been at Green Gables. 

In her despondency, she sent Roy away, refusing his offers of Christmas dinner. If she wasn’t going to eat Marilla’s cooking, she wasn’t going to eat anyone else's. She had the house to herself, the empty house. No joyful giggles of her roommates or the drone of her matron. Just Anne.

Feeling lonely and melancholy, yet with the muse high that night, Anne sat herself down at her typewriter and wrote. She wrote what her heart demanded, remembering the better days. She wrote of her home, of Avonlea, and the many adventures she’d had there; selling neighbor’s cows accidentally, burning a pie, falling through the roof of a shed and getting stuck-- she wrote of the provincial and prosaic events of life. Of her life cast in a fictional character. 

That whole week of no Roy, of no classes, of no outside disturbances had her completing a manuscript of which she could be proud. This was no frivolous tale to be sold as an advertisement. No, the book in her hands was her progeny, her accomplishments in life. 

The last semester had her sending her manuscript to any publishers she or Roy or any of the girls could think of. Week after week, she always received the same answer--a hard resounding ‘No’. The publishers didn’t like her book. 

In despair, one afternoon, after one such rejection, she stood in front of the fireplace, ready to toss the hateful thing in. She’d poured her soul into the collection of stories and no one wanted it. All her hard work was for naughot. The flames might as well have it. 

As she braced herself, ready to toss the pages in, a small knock came to the door. Distracted, Anne laid her manuscript down on the table instead, and answered it. 

There, on her doorstep, was a box of flowers, lilies-of-the-valley, the same blooms that decorated Green Gables’ doorstep. One inhale and she was back in that lovely farmhouse, watching the sun set over the fields. 

The card inside had only two words, but they pierced her soul in recognition.  _ Congratulations Carrots.  _ There was only one person that had ever dared to call her that. 

Peering down the road, she could see just in the distance the retreating back of Gilbert Blythe. What he was doing at Redmond, she didn’t know. Kingsport was a good 50 miles away from Dalhousie. But as she held the simple note to her chest, warmth flooded her heart and a strange itch came to her wrist. 

Anne closed the door and retrieved her manuscript, once again precious to her. Hugging it to her chest, she resolved to try again. Her voice deserved to be heard, and Gil-- other people would be disappointed if she just gave up. He-- _ they _ always believed in her more than she did in herself. 

The week of graduation arrived in a hurry; a dreary dreadful mess of exams, and deadlines, and sleepless nights. Anne came home, half sleepwalking, and would have missed the heavy paper package placed on her bed if she’d not essentially collapsed on it. Carefully she opened the paper. Inside was her manuscript and a letter. Anne re-read the note, not understanding it the first time. Or the second. Or the tenth. Blearily, she turned to her roommate and asked her to read it. 

“It says,  _ Dear Miss Shirley. We have accepted your manuscript  _ Kindred Spirits  _ and wish to publish it. Enclosed is an advance of 200 dollars. If there are any final revisions you wish to make before publication, address it now. We expect your final manuscript in three weeks time. Sincerely _ , yahda-yahda….Anne! They want to publish your book!” She cried, hugging the stunned, to-be authoress. Anne herself couldn’t believe it and broke down laughing in joy, in relief, in utter exhaustion. She feared she was an utter manic. With a kiss to her manuscript and to the letter, she fell into a dreamless sleep. 

The next day dawned like any other, yet it would be different by nightfall. It was graduation day, with commencement at noon. Afterwards, Roy had planned a fancy dinner at a high class restaurant, where, all the girls were sure, he would ask Anne a significant question. 

Anne ran her fingers over her wrist, worried for just a moment. Roy was her soulmate after all, wasn’t he? 

That evening, in the park, in the gazebo where they met, Roy knelt on one knee. He proclaimed in a desperately adoring voice that he loved her and couldn’t live without her and would she promise to be his wife? In that moment, with her beau pleading with her, Anne held her breath and  _ hoped,  _ one last time, that her wrist would burn. 

Her skin stayed stubbornly cool. 

Anne could no longer deny it; Roy was  _ not  _ her soulmate. As much as she was in love with the idea of him, of what he could give her, her heart disagreed with her head. This man’s name would never be burned into her skin. He wasn’t her soulmate.

As such, Anne could not, and would not marry him. 

“I’m so very sorry, Roy. I am. But I cannot marry you.”

“Why not!? Is there someone else?”

“No…. No. I thought that one day I would fall in love with you and you’d be my soulmate. I desperately wanted it to be so. But the fates have willed it otherwise.”

“I don’t understand why that has to do with anything. You can still marry me even though we’re not soulmates. Everybody does it all the time.”

“But Roy, I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would only marry the man who was my soulmate. It’s that or never marry.I’m sorry, but I can’t.” 

Anne strode away from the man who’d courted her for two years, and didn’t regret a single step. 

* * *

Six weeks into summer and Anne was enjoying her new found freedom. No beau to think about, a job secured at White Sands, her book being published. Her life was practically perfect. She didn’t need a soulmate to be happy, despite what the rest of Avonlea thought. Oh, she heard the whispers around town, the murmurs from church, not to mention the blatant gossip from Mrs. Lynde’s own lips, of her newfangled  _ singleness.  _ What a disgrace, they said. 

Anne didn’t care. Roy was not her soulmate and until that blessed day when she found him, she was content to be herself. She would not settle for a loveless marriage. 

The latest stares came from two ladies in the Post Office, where Anne was picking up a package. Hugging the hard rectangular package to her chest, she strode out, nose held just a little higher than normal. 

Anne strongly suspected what it was that she held in her arms, and she couldn’t contain her excitement. With one hand she rode her bicycle towards home, the other hand cradling her precious burden. 

“Marilla!” Anne burst through the door, simultaneously ripping open her package. “It’s my book! It’s here!” She palmed the book, running her hand down the spine. “Oh look how beautiful it is. And look!” Anne opened the first page to the dedication. She looked up, meeting the gaze of Marilla coming in from the kitchen. “I dedicated it to you and Matthew!” 

Marilla took the book in hand, adjusting her glasses. She ran her fingers over the paragraph, mouthing the words. Then she tacked on the last part that Anne had forgotten about. “And to Gilbert, for encouraging me to always keep writing, no matter what.” 

Anne snatched the book back from Marilla, a dark ruddy red coloring her cheeks.“I-- I’d forgotten about that part. I just put it in on a whim. It’s true though, Gilbert did give me sort of the idea in the first place, he does need credit.” She hugged the book to her chest. Anne didn’t know if she was protecting the book or herself from Marilla.

Marilla, sharp eyed as ever, despite her failing vision, knew that Anne felt a lot deeper than she was letting on. And so she felt that it was her duty to inform the girl out of love. 

“Anne, I want to tell you something that I just heard now.”

Marilla’s serious, solemn tone had Anne stilling, the smile freezing on her face. 

“I’m afraid that Gilbert Blythe...is, well….he has the fever. Anne… I’m extremely sorry but he’s dying.” 

The book hit the floor. 

“Dying?” The voice was a stranger to Anne, hollow, devoid of emotion. 

“The doctor isn’t optimistic. No, don’t look at me like that Anne, there’s still hope. He’s a Blythe and they’re known fighters. He’ll get through this…” 

The last of Marilla’s comforting fell on deaf ears, and Anne moved through the house as though a ghost. The stairs didn’t creak with her weight. The hall had no sign of her passing. Something inside her had died in news of her beloved friend’s impending death. 

Her knees cracked as they hit the wood beneath her window, facing east towards the ocean. 

Gilbert,  _ gone _ ? It was unimaginable. Never in all her fantasies or dreams of the future had Gilbert not been in it. All her kindred spirits had places in her future. Diana remained her bosom friend, where’d they correspond every week, have tea together on thursdays, and their children would be best friends. 

Gilbert was…there. Somewhere. And until that moment, Anne hadn’t really understood where she’d want him in her life. As friends of course, always pushing each other, their old rivalry as fierce as ever. Him as a doctor and her as a teacher, bickering like an old married couple. 

And there it was, the truth. She wanted to be best friends, lovers, married. 

She loved him. 

Anne loved Gilbert Blythe. 

A single tear carved a trail down her cheek, past her chin, burning fire down her neck and into her dress. She could feel the fiery trail flow past her heart and down into her arm, fixating on a point on her wrist. 

The utter agony of a soulmark flared to life, a white scorching pain. Anne felt the mark being written into her skin, the penstrokes of fate writing her future into her very being. The cursive G, the elegant B, and all the letters in between. Her future that at that very moment fought for his very life.

In that second she knew two things: one, Gilbert Blythe was her soulmate and two, he would never ever know. 

Anne kept her vigil all night, deaf to the world around her. Marilla had come and gone several times, bringing food, turning down the covers, placing the new book on the night table, and Anne remained ignorant to it all. She didn’t notice her lower legs fall asleep from kneeling or the candle burning down to the wick.

All her focus lay eastward, to the rising sun. 

She prayed with her heart and her mind, asking the heavens to spare him, to give him back to her, despite tossing him away so cruelly two years ago. He’d given her his heart and she’d left it with him that dreary night on the bridge. Gilbert had begged her to say yes, had pleaded with her to marry him, and like a dolt, she’d said no. 

He was her soulmate and she’d denied him the one thing he’d asked for. 

Because that was the kind of person Gilbert was. Unselfish, honest, reliable. She’d once complained to Diana that he was prosaic, and not romantic enough. 

Despite all her evidence to the contrary, falsely planted by her stubbornness, he’d been dashingly romantic, stealing her heart so sneakily, she’d never known she’d been without it all this time. She could not have ever loved Roy because she’d loved  _ Gilbert _ , wholly and completely. 

Now he was dying and it was all Anne’s fault. 

All the bright possibilities of what could’ve been ran through her head that cold rainy night. In the deepest of the night, her thoughts darkened, hope slipping away. She saw a future without Gilbert; without him by her side, loving her, praising her, supporting her. Dead, lying in the ground and her soulmark faded to white, almost vanishing against her skin. She’d only just realized it and now she was imagining it white. 

Most days her imagination served her well. Tonight was an exception. 

When the dawn rose, Anne struggled to her feet, wiped her tears, gathered her book to her chest, and slipped out into the gray morning. 

She traversed the old, well-worn, familiar path to the Blythe farm. A solemn nod of acknowledgment was all the welcome given to her by Gilbert’s father, his shadow disappearing into the bar. The sorrow in his eyes matched hers. 

Anne gently knocked, the hollow sound echoing off the wood. The door opened and the pale, haggard face of Mrs. Blythe appeared., Anne spoke, her voice cracked with pain and disuse. “May I see him?” At the woman’s frown, Anne hesitantly rolled up her sleeve. Holding out her arm, she showed Mrs. Blythe her soulmark, the beautiful black calligraphy plain to see. 

“Please?”

Mrs. Blythe glanced from her wrist to Anne’s gray eyes. “Oh my darling girl.” They embraced, tears coursing down both their cheeks. “Yes. Please do.” 

Anne hugged her book to her chest, drawing comfort from it like a child would from a teddy bear. The smell of sickness hung in the upper rooms, a pile of linens next to the door. A bloody handkerchief lying in the corner. 

She pushed open the door, and stifled a sob at seeing her beloved in his bed, his face ashen white. If not for the rattling breath, she’d think him dead. 

“Gil…” She trailed off and sat down next to him, taking his cold hand in hers. At her entrance, he turned towards her. 

“Anne?” It was a question, a praise, and an absolution all in one. 

“Yes, Gil, it’s me. Look, I brought you my book. I did what you said. I wrote about Avonlea, and life on Prince Edward Island. And they want to publish it. Me! A published author.” She felt her smile cracking.

“I dedicated it to you, see? You’ve always pushed me to be the better part of myself, it’s just one of the things I lo-- I admire about you.” She sniffed. “I’ll just leave the book here. It’s yours, so that you can be the first to read it.”

As she raised his hand to her face, cradling his palm to her cheek, his sleeve slipped down and his forearm was bared. A forearm that had always been encased by a suit, a shirt, a coat, or by gloves. The black script of  _ Anne Shirley  _ decorated his skin. Turning her head, she gently caressed her name with her lips.

He turned away from her attempting to draw away his hand. But Anne would not release it. “Gil, darling, I need you to come back to me. Please. I can’t be without you.” Her fingernails were leaving prints in his palm with how hard she was holding him. “I’m not letting you go that easy, you hear me? We still have so much to talk about. There’s so much that you don’t know. I need you to fight. Fight for me and for us, but for yourself.”

Anne felt the strength leave his hand, he was no longer trying to pull away. Encouraged, she kept going. “Someday you’ll be a magnificent doctor. You’re so smart, so driven and passionate. You want to help people and fix them. You’ll be a doctor who cares, who cares about the lowly farmers, the little children, and poor and sick at heart. They need you, they need Doctor Gilbert Blythe, but that will only happen if you live. So please, Gilbert, live.” 

She let go then, letting his hand drop to the bed. She got up and went to the door, turning back one last time. 

“I love you.” She whispered, and left. Grieving. In that last second her wrist had turned white.

* * *

That morning, she found an old scrap of fabric, dark green, to wrap around her wrist. She didn’t want to see the evidence of a broken heart. 

Anne kept herself busy, hard work soothing to the soul. A routine that made her move, made her get out of bed and blink away the tears. Harvesting the orchard, milking the cows, fetching the eggs; she refused help with the laundry, insisting that she could do it. 

Anne ate her meals, but not with the usual gusto. She’d drift off in the middle, staring out the window, before being called back by either Marilla or Rachel Lynde. She never stayed in the parlor after dinner, preferring to retreat to her gable room where the pacing never stopped. Back and forth she paced, picking at her cloth wrap, a blank look in her gaze. A week of this and Marilla had finally accepted it as the new normal. Eventually, Anne would sleep, but not until the wee hours of the morning. But Marilla could have no complaints as Anne was always up before her, tending to the morning milking. 

It was Wednesday, exactly a week from that terrible day. Anne still hadn’t heard anything about Gilbert’s funeral or a wake or any details at all. Perhaps she’d missed it, with all her work and focus on the farm chores. Or worse,the Blythes had been disinclined to invite her, knowing she was grieving with the rest of them. 

“Anne Shirley, up in the trees as ever.” A voice startled her out of her thoughts. A  _ familiar voice.  _

Whipping her head around, she saw the ghost, dressed in a pale white suit. She’d leaned too fa, however, and with a shriek she lost her balance oon the ladder, falling. Momentarily terrified, Anne braced to hit ground.

Strong hands caught her, however, a warm body with a hot breath against her face. 

“Gil?” 

“Hey, Carrots.”

“Gilbert!” Anne embraced him, tears bursting forth as she gasped sobs of joy. She held him to her, afraid if she let him go that he would vanish into dust,disappear into her memory as a vision. 

“You’re alive! I thought you were dead, I knew you were dead! You’re alive?” 

Gilbert smiled, then grasped her hands and kissed her knuckles. His pinky caressed her wrist band, eyes curious, but he made no comment. 

“Walk with me?”

She grinned. “Anywhere.”

When she saw the Lake of Shining Waters was their destination, Anne knew they would have always ended up back here, at the bridge where everything had gone wrong. Fate wanted them on that bridge. Anne was grateful at the chance for a do-over, for a chance, perhaor things she should’ve said that day.

“I read your book.” Gilbert interjected into her musings.

She looked up at him. “You did?” 

“It was really good Anne. Enjoyable. Much better than that “Avril’s Atonement” nonsense. There was depth and understanding and… well it’s the best thing you’ve ever written.” 

“You really think so?” Anne could feel the smiling beaming across her face.

Gilbert’s expression matched hers. “I know so.”

Anne reached out and snagged his right hand in hers, entwining their fingers. She brought it to her stomach, feeling a little shy. 

“I actually wanted to thank you. You see.. well...do you remember that day when you left the note at my door? A two weeks before graduation?” He nodded. “Well, I was just about to cast my book into the fire! I was unhappy with it, dreadfully unhappy and resolved to throw it away and never write again. And then i got your note and… I didn’t. I remembered how you believed in me, knew that I could write something so much better than Avril’s Atonement. I had hope again, thanks to you.” 

“Anne…” He stopped her, looking down at her hand entwined with his. He gently brought it to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat pounding through her hand. He toyed with the edge of the dark fabric. “May I?” 

Anne quivered with fear; the last time she’d seen the cursive writing it had been white, blending in with her skin. What if it was still white? What if this was a dream, or an extended vision? What if she’d truly lost it and lived in a fantasy realm with no hint of reality? 

Readjusting her grip on Gilbert’s warm, solid hand, she reminded herself that he was a tangible being. He was her pillar. Reaching over, she pinched herself. At the sharp pain, Anne knew that it was real. 

“Do it.” She directed. Mesmerized by his slow steady movements,she watched as he untied the knot and then started unwinding. Her heart pounded. There was a dizzy feeling in her head. The nerves had her opening her mouth, rambling. 

“When I found out that you were dying and not going to make it I just couldn’t imagine life without you. You were my Rock, Gilbert, just like the good Lord, steady and unfailing. My bitter rival, my good chum, my best friend. You were unchanging. When you declared that you were my soulmate I...I wasn’t ready for you to change.  _ I  _ got to decide when you changed, when you could play a different part. I was angry because my rock wasn’t a rock anymore. You were different.”

Gilbert’s hand never paused, just slowly peeling away layer after layer. Soon there wouldn’t be anything left. He was uncovering the naked heart of her.

“And when I realized that you weren’t going to be  _ there,  _ in whatever form you decided to be, my world shifted. I was falling, unsteady into the pits. I wanted to die if you didn’t make it-”she looked over at Gilbert, just to reassure herself that he was still there “-and that’s when I knew that I had fallen in love with you. The mark just confirmed it. 

I was finally ready for you to play the part that fate had written a long time ago, and I was about to lose you. I did lose you” 

Gilbert looked down at her wrist, but Anne was looking at him. He quickly covered her mark with his large hand, hiding her soulmark again. A delighted, joyful smiled beamed across his face, his hazel eyes more green than brown. 

“But you didn’t.” He whispered, then revealed her wrist. 

There, scrawling across her skin in deep,  _ black  _ writing was his name,  _ Gilbert Blythe.  _

The tangible proof of his living, of this not being a dream was presented in front of her. She looked back up at him, seeing the love he had for her shining through his eyes.

“I love you.” She whispered, her free hand wiping at the unexpected tears. He captured that hand, placing it on his chest before cupping her cheek. “As I love you.” he breathed, just as he met his lips against hers. 

A fire roared to life as they came together, burning her wrist, her gut, her very soul. The very essence of them intertwined and became one whole. They’d been two parts separate, lonely without the other, but fit together as jigsaw pieces. 

Anne’s hand felt the pounding of his heart through the layers of clothing, in time with her own. He wrapped an arm around her waist, bring her flush against him, his warm heat reminding her of a hearthfire---home. Kissing Gilbert was like coming home. 

Her hand traveled up from his heart to the base of his neck, needing more of him, tangling her fingers into his curls. The kiss intensified, Gilbert pushing her and Anne giving as much love and adoration in return. 

A hard, cylindrical shape pressed against her lower back, just below Gilbert’s palm. The sensation of being trapped, but  _ liking  _ it, knowing that she couldn’t get away from him if she tried, and she didn’t  _ want  _ to, had Anne gasping in delight and Gilbert took the advantage and escalated the kiss. 

For a few seconds, he was past her lips, inside her intimately. The sensation had her gripping him tightly, one hand fisted in his coat, the other pulling and pressing. He moved again, the length of his body finding every curve of hers. 

Anne gave herself over to his ministrations except for one inkling of pain in her lower back. The rail was digging in. She tried to ignore it, but the closer Gilbert got, the worse it became. She tried to press closer to him, arching her back, but he took that as enthusiasm. Just as she was about to pull away from the kiss…

_ Crack! _

The rail gave way. With nothing holding her up anymore, and Gilbert’s weight overbalancing her, Anne tumbled backwards into the lake,. She shrieked as she submerged, the cold water chilling her immediately, soaking her dress.

Gilbert, having fallen in with her, hadn’t fared much better. His suit clung to his body, becoming more translucent by the moment. 

Then Anne started inhaling water. Her heavy skirts started pulling her underneath the waves. She reached for Gilbert, latching her arms around his neck.

“I still can’t swim.” She confessed, clinging to her lifeline. 

Gilbert laughed in disbelief. “Truly? Even after the Elaine incident?”

Anne attempted to keep her dignity. “There was no one who would teach me.” 

“I will.” Gilbert leaned close, and Anne adored the way his autumn eyes twinkled. He nudged his nose with her, giving her a short peck on the lips. 

Then she spotted that mischievous smirk.

“Stay here.” He whispered, quickly prying her off him, placing her hands on a familiar piling. “I’ll be right back.” 

“No! Gil--Gil, don’t you dare! Not again. Gilbert Blythe! Don’t you dare leave me here! Gil! GILBERT!!” She yelled at his retreating figure. 

Anne groaned in defeat. Once again she was stuck on this infernal bridge, waiting for one Gilbert Blythe to come and rescue her. 

She kept herself busy by admiring her soulmark. She only had it a short time before covering it up, so the mark was still shiny new. It kinda looked like his handwriting, but that G was how she made hers, like a capital C and a J put together. But she didn’t write her B’s like that at all. 

A splash had her looking up. There, with his trusty skiff, rowing towards her, was her very own knight--though not  _ quite  _ in shining armor. She couldn’t stop a grin from splitting across her face. 

He pulled up, that smile she had hated for so long but now was dear to her adorning his face.

“Find any fish?”

Anne wrinkled her nose, mock glaring at him. “Help me in, would you? You’re the one who dumped me in the lake in the first place.” 

“I dumped you? I recall that I was  _ kissing  _ you, not dumping yo--oww!” Anne had smacked him on the shoulder, causing the boat to wobble.

“That was for teasing me.” Then she leaned forward and kissed him, lingering. “ _ That _ was for rescuing me.” 

Gilbert resumed his rowing and Anne just gazed at him, taking him in. Recalling their earlier conversation, Anne sobered. 

“I am so very sorry, Gil. I’ve been such a dunce. If I hadn’t…then we...”

“Anne. You weren’t ready. I thought that since you were encouraging me, you knew that my name was on your wrist. I pushed too hard and too fast and you ran away. I’m the one who should be sorry.” 

“But I’m the one who almost married a man who wasn’t my soulmate. I was too blind to see the truth right in front of me.” 

“All’s well now.” Gilbert helped her out of the skiff. “Anne…” he took her hands in his, looking deep into her eyes. “I still have three years left of medical school. Even after that there won’t be… how did you say it?...there won’t be any sunbursts or marble halls. It will just be me.”

She raised her left hand to his cheek, caressing the jawline she admired so much. “ _ You _ are all I need. My soulmate is a hardworking medical student, soon to be doctor, and I wouldn't have it any other way.” 

He turned his head and kissed her soulmark, then leaned down and captured her lips. What followed was a kiss that would definitely be disapproved of by Mrs. Rachel Lynde. 

But, oh how she loved him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked this? Here's more like it!
> 
> \- [you belong somewhere close to me by georgiestauffenberg](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16000784)  
> AU. Gilbert is one of those rare, lucky souls who has a soulmate.
> 
> \- [the sun and the moon keep our secrets by the_strangest_person](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960825)
> 
> Find me on tumblr as @withlovegilbert or @rebelarkey  
> Don't forget to COMMENT or SUBSCRIBE TO ME


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